


Anxiety

by BitterlyJittery



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: (duh), Angst, Anxiety, Gen, graphic description of a panic attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:15:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22140898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitterlyJittery/pseuds/BitterlyJittery
Summary: Thomas is sick and tired of being constantly scared out of his mind. Confronting the source of his fears, however, proves to be just as frightening.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	Anxiety

Thomas is seventeen, and he’s scared.

He doesn’t know why, and that scares him further.

He’s scared of things that will never happen and can’t happen, he’s afraid of the uncertainties of life, all the mights and maybes.

He’s scared of himself for scaring himself, for everything he’s afraid of he’s made up in his mind. It’s not real. There’s a voice in the back of his head telling him it’s not real and yet a voice louder still tells him to fear.

Thomas is crying, and he doesn’t know why.

What if these feelings don’t pass? What if they get worse? What if…

what if-

whatifwhatifwhatifwhatif

and

it

won’t

stop.

At 3:00 am, Thomas crashes hard into sleep.

At 3:30 am, Thomas is approached by a hooded stranger in his ~~dreams~~ ~~nightmares~~ dreams.

The stranger’s posture is hunched, his hair and hands hidden in the vastness of his

dark

hoodie.

He wears ruined jeans and tattered vans and everything about him says _back off, you don’t want any with me._

So Thomas backs away.

Or he would.

But every step back brings him a step closer and it is only when the stranger removes his hood and Thomas stares into his own eyes does he realize that this is not a stranger at all.

“What do you want from me?!”

Thomas is shaking. He knows this feeling. The feeling of a dry mouth and clammy hands and there’s a tightness in his chest, a pressure and his hands feel like they’ve spent too long white-knuckling a back massager.

“Te- tell- tell me why you’re doing this!”

The boy with his face does not speak.

“I don’t understand, I don’t- take them AWAY!”

Thomas falls to his knees, clutching his lurching stomach.

“There’s nothing… There’s- there’s nothing to-”

He looks up.

Yes, the boy’s face is his, but sharper.

Edgy teen getup be damned, there’s danger in those eyes, those twin pools of dark brown, and Thomas is paralyzed by them.

_Whatifwhatifwhatifwhatif_

**Whatifwhatifwhatifwhatif**

The thoughts echo in his brain louder than a tempest, steamrolling Thomas until he cannot breathe-

It takes all of his willpower to look away and he is drained, left with a single word.

**Protection.**

For reasons Thomas cannot explain, this makes him angry.

He struggles to his feet.

_“Protection?”_ he splutters. “Is _this_ your idea of protection?”

He glares at the dark smudges under his eyes, a safe focal point.

“So you’re protecting me from things that don’t exist? Things that could never happen in a million years? How? By making me worry about things I’d never do? Things they’d never say?”

He’s taking purposeful steps towards him now, jabbing a finger at his chest.

Thomas doesn’t touch him, but the boy backs away all the same,

hands still shoved in his pockets.

“Or what, by making me feel like crap when nothing’s wrong at all? When I’m not even thinking about anything bad? Just so I can start thinking about something bad?”

He throws his hands in the air.

The boy doesn’t flinch.

“People have real problems, ya know! My friends have real problems! I can’t tell them about this because thanks to you, I’m making a mountain out of a molehill! There wasn’t even a molehill! You _made_ the molehill!”

Thomas is not typically an angry person, but he’s _had_ it with this guy. He’s sick and tired of feeling this way, and the source of these feelings is right in front of him, contributing nothing but stress and misery and-

Thomas’s finger connects with the boy’s chest.

“I HATE YOU!”

His shout lingers in the inky blackness of the unsolid mindscape.

The eyes that Thomas refuses to look in are wide with an unidentifiable emotion.

Thomas turns around. He will not feel pity for the cause of his constant internal strife.

He curls his arms around himself again.

“I don’t want you. I don’t need you. Go away.”

He takes a shuddering breath.

_“Please.”_

When the boy finally opens his mouth to speak, his voice is twisted, layered, demanding.

LOUD.

**“Nice try, but I’m gonna stick around whether you like it or not.”**

Thomas shakes his head, gripping at his shirt with trembling fingers.

The boy stalks closer. He’s right behind him, Thomas can feel his breath on his neck-

**“You can’t just quit me.”**

Suddenly, Thomas is awake, clutching at his blankets in a cold sweat.

His school alarm is going off.

He takes a deep breath.

Today is going to be better.

Today, he’ll beat the cycle.

He hopes.


End file.
